


7-9-13

by pollitt



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: mcshep_match, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-15
Updated: 2009-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-03 00:41:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pollitt/pseuds/pollitt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney finds his faith.</p>
            </blockquote>





	7-9-13

**Author's Note:**

> Set immediately following episode 5x01, "Search and Rescue."

There was something reassuring, and very telling, that Rodney knew by the rhythm and repetition of John's heart monitor how good (or bad) he was doing. Perfect pitch and a genius brain helped, but there was also the fact that Rodney had spent more time than he cared to count (but he had anyway, he couldn't help it) by John's bedside, listening to the electronic beeps.

According to Keller, the surgery had been a complete success, the internal damage caused by John's "skewering" (as John called it) had been a lot less than it could have been, even with John's best efforts to mess himself even more by mounting the rescue mission.

Rodney shut his eyes for a moment and listened.

Behind him, Rodney could hear Torren squeak and Teyla's soft, soothing voice answer. In front of him, he could hear the strong, steady beat of John's heart monitor, the familiar in and out of John's breath.

Things were going to be okay.

"I can call you when he's awake, if you'd like to get some sleep." Keller said.

He opened his eyes and turned toward the sound of her voice. Behind him, he watched as Keller checked Teyla's pulse and made cute faces at Torren. She looked at him, her eyes still soft with the awe that newborns tend to instill in people.

"He could be out for hours still. You should at least get something to eat."

"Already been taken care of," Ronon said, carrying two trays of food, one of which he set down on the rolling tray table next to John's bed.

"I'm going to stay here," Rodney answered, looking back at John and smoothing the portion of the sheet closest to him, his fingertips brushing the side of John's hand.

"We're all going to stay here." Ronon set his tray down on the table next to Teyla's bed and pulled up a chair.

"Sure. Of course. Let me get you some pillows."

Rodney looked at the tray of food, at Teyla and Torren, and Ronon. He felt a lump the size of old Lantea form in his throat. "Thank you."

"You can hold his hand, Rodney. We don't mind," Teyla said.

"I know," Rodney answered, and he did know. And he knew that most of Atlantis knew about them, it was one of the open secrets on Atlantis--along with the black market coffee and chocolate trade, Chuck's knitting prowess, and the hybrid pot plants that the Botany department had been cultivating since arriving on Atlantis. It was just, well, public displays of affection and John Sheppard were like hard science in science fiction movies of the 80s--very rare.

"He would not mind either. It's as much for you as it is for him."

There were times when Teyla was really good and really creepy with the mind reading thing.

John's hand was warm, and his fingers twitched--either in reflex, or possibly in unconscious response (he preferred to think it was the latter)--as Rodney slid their palms together and held John's hand.

After two weeks--twelve of those days spent searching for John as well as Teyla--he couldn't stop the wave of emotion that swelled up and crashed against his chest--pushing at his breastbone and ribs. He exhaled, squeezed John's hand, and felt his world click back into place.

ooooo

 

When Rodney woke up the next morning, the infirmary was quiet, and Teyla's bed and Ronon's chair were empty. He looked down at his watch and saw that he had slept for almost eight hours.

He looked over at John's bed and saw the other man shift and his eyes open, he looked over to his side, toward Rodney and winced.

"Hey buddy." John's voice was raspy from sleep--a sound that Rodney was secretly a little in love with--and his eyes took a couple of seconds to focus.

"Hey." Rodney scooted his chair up as John raised the head of the bed so he was sitting upright. "How are you feeling?"

"Like they gave me the good meds so they could put my guts back together again." John smiled.

Rodney ran his knuckles along John's jaw, against the grain of stubble. He returned the smile. "You're lucky it didn't take all the king's horses and men. And, no, you're not Steve Austin either, despite what you might think."

"I have to wait till I'm a full Colonel for that one. Maybe in a couple of years." John reached up and cupped his hand around Rodney's wrist. "You look like you've just spent a night sleeping in a very uncomfortable chair. Was I that bad?"

"No."

Despite their differences--Rodney knows he can talk too much, and there are days that he can count the number of words John says on both hands and maybe a foot--the words, the vocabulary of what is between them, is something that isn't easy for either of them to say. Rodney's been close more than once, but he's held back, afraid if he said something too soon John would disappear (logically, he knows that saying the words isn't going to close a dimensional breach separating them forever--this isn't _Doctor Who_.)

"You didn't have to."

The feel of John's fingers sliding over the back of Rodney's hand, sliding between Rodney's fingers, lacing them together, should not have felt as hot as it did. Rodney blamed the excitement from the last couple of days and the fact that they hadn't touched in weeks for the fact that he felt a definite interest south of his belt.

 

"Yes I did." He pressed a kiss to the back of John's hand.

"I am, however, going to be sleeping in my own bed tonight," he added, hoping to inject some levity to the moment.

"About that," John said, still serious. "I'm going to be in here for at least another day, and then Keller says I'm going to be off my feet for a week--"

"And you're going to listen to her. No bionic Sheppard, remember?"

"So it would probably make the most sense to move stuff either out of my place into yours, or vice versa, while I'm in here or else we're going to have to wait until I can be more mobile," John continued, gripping Rodney's hand tighter with each word.

"Did you just say what I think you said?" Rodney asked, his voice catching in surprise. "How many meds are you on?"

"I'm not sure of the number, but they're good ones." Rodney could hear a glint of hurt, and not the physical kind, in John's voice. "But I'm not so hopped up that I didn't mean what I said."

John released Rodney's hand, and if Rodney could've kicked his own ass, he would have.

"Spending time as the last man on Atlantis with only a hologram of your . . . only a hologram of you--you, who spent a third of your life trying to figure out a way to send me back here and save, well, everyone. Getting skewered like a kabob. Kinda made me think about stuff." John looked down at his hands. "I want this."

Rodney McKay, smartest man in two galaxies, knows a proposal when he hears one. And that was one.

There was really only one answer that Rodney could give. He sat on the edge of the bed and took John's hands in his own. "You have a better view of the ocean. And I want this, too."

Like science fiction in the 80s occasionally, actually getting some of the science correct, sometimes John Sheppard smiles like he's holding nothing back and kisses Rodney for anyone to see.

ooooo

 

In the end, and although they had been on Atlantis for four years now, it took Rodney a remarkably short time to pack up his possessions and, with help from Ronon and Radek, to transfer them to John's quarters. He mostly unintentionally breaks his own promise to sleep in his own bed (which is now their bed. If they never have to squeeze onto the uncomfortable, tiny mattress that John called a bed--well, they won't), falling asleep first in the chair next to John's bed and then, when John had woken him up and told him at least one of them shouldn't be sore when they woke up, groggily moving over to the bed Teyla had occupied the night before.

Rodney's boxes lay untouched for the first day and a half after John's released from the hospital. Given the option of unpacking his PhDs or crawling into bed with John after far too much time spent apart, the former were just pretty pieces of paper compared to lean muscle and warm, touchable skin.

It's a brand new experience for Rodney, this world of co-habitation, and like most new worlds that he's explored, there are sometimes dangers, always surprises, and maybe an underground bunker or two that should really be left unexplored. But like all things he and John face and have faced together, it works. And the best part (okay, second best, maybe third) is something Rodney had never even contemplated--housewarming gifts.

Teyla's gift is a quilt for their bed. It's gorgeous, with black and blue linked rings dominating the patterns.

"The quilt is for warmth and protection, the rings symbolize not only the stargate, but union as well," she said, running her hand over the pattern.

Rodney feels a heat at his cheeks and when he looks over at John, he sees a flush on John's cheeks as well.

Ronon's gift comes held in a small box.

"It's called a bordet," Ronon explained as Rodney and John looked at the palm-sized ovular piece of smooth blond wood. There were symbols carved on one side that looked not unlike Greek. "You're supposed to hang it over a door to keep the bad stuff outside of the house--arguments, bad spirits, enemies, the Wraith…The walls here aren't as easy to nail things to as at home. I ended up just hanging mine from one of the conduits."

It wasn't until almost a week in that Rodney began to notice the ritual. The first time he saw it, Rodney thought John was straightening the bordet on his way out of their quarters. It wasn't until Rodney saw it again, until he watched John run his knuckles over the smooth surface of the wood, that Rodney realized what John was doing. Every time John entered or exited the room, the first or last thing he did would be to touch wood.

Rodney had known John was superstitious--he'd never met a military man or woman who wasn't--but he'd never been witness to it, and once he had, Rodney realized that watching John's ritual had become part of Rodney's own touchstone. For John, there was power in the small piece of wood at their door--keeping the bad things away. For Rodney, he realized, it was the tangible--waking up next to John every morning, watching him pull on his boots and not tying the laces, the touches (grand and ordinary)--that grounded him, that he believed in.

Whether the faith came from the ritual of touching a small piece of wood by the door or the feel of stubble against skin, it was faith in what they had, in what they were building. It was faith in each other and that was everything.

/fin

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for the bordet was inspired by various traditions of having an item or symbol at the door of ones home (such as a mezzuzah or cross) as a protection, reminder, or good luck charm. Touching wood, after all, is good luck!
> 
> _bordet_ is Danish for 'board', the Danish translation for "knocking on/touching wood" is "bank under bordet" (knock under the table). The commonly used phrase is often used as a part of the phrase "7-9-13, bank under bordet", where "7-9-13" is just another way to say touch wood.


End file.
